PASS ME BY

   

 Baby killers? Yes, that will catch your eye, capture your ear. It’s the debate du jour. Everyone who has ever wanted to hear the sound of their own voice will tell you about it, share their stance. Some do it from their Facebook status prompt, others on the floor of the Legislative Palace. Some will do it out of true conviction, others out of a very well calculated way to walk  the path to a political career. In spite of the extreme passion the subject of legalizing abortion in the two instances proposed by Johnny Wright  has aroused (Side note and completely unrelated to his proposal: you gotta love a man in politics who maintains his integrity and has a set of balls of steel...And so young too! But I digress.) I am happy to see debate going on. I am happy to see an exchange of views and for us Salvadorans, always so filled with apathy, to finally be speaking out. Whatever your view may be, by default it is an unpopular one for the other side-  and taking unpopular stances is good for you, it tests your mettle.

    In El Salvador our small world is very judgmental, and constantly seen in  black and white. There is a lot of living in extremes. For those of you unfamiliar with my country, it is one of five that still considers abortion a crime. Under no circumstance can an abortion be legal, whether the pregnancy is a risk for the mother’s life, whether the pregnancy is the result of raping an underage girl or (gasp!) whether  a woman for any other reason, powerful or not, does not wish to have a baby. Johnny Wright recently proposed a change in the current criminal law which would , if passed, legalize abortion in the first two instances mentioned above. The spirit of his initiative is preserving women’s health but it has been enough to launch a national morality competition. If this were the Trojan War, John Wright stole Helen. 

    I see a lot of problems here. But not the obvious ones. There are enough people out there giving their two cents on morality, principles, and even going as far as calling legalizing abortion under the first two proposed instances a genocide. There are enough righteous fingers zealously pointing at those who have sparked this debate, so I am thinking more than jumping to a condemning verdict on whether someone has a broken moral compass or not, who is bad and who is even badder, I would rather share the questions I have come up with.

The options. What are the options for girls/ women under these first two premises? What kind of resources do they have? Does this government know enough about them to come down with a condemnation that will affect their lives and impact their health in a huge way? Will the government give them some sort of support  after forcing them into a decision they were not prepared to make? Are we giving women the credit they deserve when we are  tying their decision making hand and foot by sending them to jail if what the State has chosen for them is not in alignment with what they want?  What will happen when you force women to have these babies? Will they actually follow through, or will they turn to clandestine clinics and get a procedure under the lowest medical care possible?  

For the ones who follow through and carry their pregnancies and give birth to an unwanted baby the obvious choice is giving them up for adoption. Where are we putting all these babies?Has anyone visited an orphanage here? Does anyone know what the chances are of these kids actually getting adopted in a vital phase of life were nurturing from parents is KEY? I would like to think they will get  scooped up by a nice family from Copenhagen who will buy them  an Ikea bunk bed and summer vacays in Biarritz , but it’s not happening. It is more likely that these kids will rot in an understaffed, under budgeted orphanage lacking love, lacking guidance and therefore lacking the pillars for the self esteem and sense of self they will need to navigate life in a joyful way.  I don't want to be a Negative Nelly just sitting here pointing out deficiency after deficiency but- Has anybody read the adoption laws in this country? Laws are not meant to be stagnant. For laws to serve their purpose correctly they need to change with the times. They need to be dynamic. Which leads me  to the following thought:

This debate is partly on legalizing the choice to have abortion when the pregnancy is the result of the rape of an underage girl. I don’t know a rape victim personally, but they are everywhere in this country. At the rate of one every twenty minutes, this issue should be getting a lot more attention than the abortion debate. I am not saying it is more important, I am saying look at the origin of things first. Nip that in the bud.  Why have we not looked at this more closely, why are we not debating to modify those laws? Why don’t we protect our girls as a government first,after all -isn’t the crime in this country what puts them in the position of having an unwanted baby in the first place? This is not a confusing case of what came first chicken or the egg. For an underage girl to get pregnant by her rapist  a crime needs to be committed first. Everyone talks about life as a constitutional right. But freedom is there too. What about health, a safe and secure childhood? How does one decide which life is worth more? a defenseless cell or a defenseless child who is already here?

As for the girls we are trying to protect from committing a sin that will make them criminals on earth and damn them to hell in the next life: 

I have had the privilege of working  with gang member girls as young as fourteen who have been incarcerated. In many ways they are not that different from you and me, in others the way they grew up has been a tough experience our silver spoon  fed selves cannot fathom. They are hopeless romantics who grew up in a home where they were not valued or loved in the proper way a child needs to be nurtured in order to thrive. They have lived on the streets, they have been raped a number of times, usually by a family member. Their mothers knew the truth but would not risk crossing the males who dominate their family. These girls turn to gangs because they are offered loyalty, and a sense of belonging, and the protection they never got at home. I know what some are thinking. That I am some sort of asshole because I am not saying we should throw them all in a hole and burn them because they are bad eggs. Yes, I have heard people say that. Because it is much more simple to declare that they are bad seeds who do bad things than to think of ways to help them repair their damaged selves. I’ll tell you what. No one is born bad. Perhaps if our circumstances had been different,  we would be their cell mates. We are all so passionate about defending the life that is to be. But what about the life that is already here? these girls have been forgotten. No one thinks of them, no one writes about them. Where are the enraged moralists? Perhaps speaking out for those girls, who are still our girls, is not chic. It is not the debate du jour. The problem here is crime, not the babies- but no one looks at the background. And so I join the ranks of those who use their voice, not to stir the pot even more, but to raise some valid questions. I am aware I am  taking an  unpopular stance, and unpopular as it is, I stand by it. I hope we can one day say girls here are safe from sexual aggression, but if this cannot be a reality I support them having a choice to be healthy not just physically but mentally and make decisions pertaining to their bodies and their lives along with their parents or guardians. I support them having those rape babies or not, I support them if they want to  risk their lives to have a baby, or not. I urge you to allow yourself a glimpse of who these girls and women are. I assure you the less privileged are the ones who will take the brunt of this. Try walking in their shoes- switch the Manolos for a pair of chancletas. Lastly acknowledge that this world is not black and white, and that our humanity lies in the very gray. If this all sounds like baloney to you, then, in the words of Frank Sinatra- “if you don't happen to like it , deal me out,  thank you kindly, pass me by”.

What If I Had Never Met You?

I opened my eyes and the room seemed way too bright. That was enough to send me into a tizzy as I live by “ If you are on time , you are already late”.  Because nothing can be easy on a day were the goddess Fortuna has decreed you will be miserable, Finn was a grade A brat, and I was destined to leave the house frazzled with a screaming kid in tow. 

“TE VOY A NALGUEAR!” 

I am not an advocate of physical discipline. Some books say it is inhumane. What’s inhumane is the crap he puts me through. But I get it. I would very much rather reason with him and talk it out but sometimes you just see red, you look at the clock and back to that shit eating grin on his face while defiantly kicking the furniture and looking at you square in the eye. All symptoms are eerily similar to  a panic attack but it’s merely a reaction to  Kindergarchy.

-“Please brush your teeth.” 

“NO.” 

Sigh. Positive discipline alternated with  threats. Everything is a fight.

Having left him at school I focused on what was next . Clear rubber bands, I needed clear rubber bands. I agreed to teach a flower arranging class and today’s work was “How to make a European Bouquet”. Rubber bands were of the essence. Still consumed with my thoughts as I was walking to my car, I met the eye of a fellow drop offer. I had seen her many times but we had never spoken. Today, of all days, we chatted. I discovered that behind that quiet face  I have walked by on many occasions over the past two months is a woman that I relate to and whose conversation am I enthralled with. Having written her off as another plus one wifey in athleisure I am embarrassed to admit I had never bothered with her. On the drive over I thought of how many amazing women are out there that we are missing out on. So many points of view, so many stories and wisdom. Friend FOMO. I thought of how we do ourselves such a disservice by trying to remain separate when connection is so much better.

I looked at the screen and Waze was saying I would be at CISF ( stands for Center for Feminine Social Integration in Spanish) at 9:17 a.m. “ I’m good,” I thought..Today was my first day at work and my second time meeting Merci, who works for an NGO that does tremendous work in Centers were girls between the ages of 14 and 25 have been locked up. I am charmed by her lack of pretentiousness, her ethic and her authenticity. We taught the “Girls Club” class together and all the stigmas I had about gang member girls were crushed in one morning. The girls I taught have not given up, the girls I taught still, in some small place in those hearts that we all like to define as black and white, are hopeful.

After class Merci and I took an early lunch before our next class. When I sat down and checked my phone (which I was not allowed to have in Juvie Jail), my heart sank. A ton of missed calls already, from the same number. And another call coming in. My kid’s teacher. She explained in that Montessori Zen voice that she is at the hospital with my kid. Merci looked up after listening a bit and got the check. We put together an emergency plan for her to take a stab at the class alone while she reassured me it would be ok. I felt awful I couldn’t finish the day. I felt awful for the girls. I felt awful for my kid, sitting in some hospital without his mama to hold his hand- and me still being at least 35 minutes away from reaching him. That’s the thing about women, they really do need us everywhere.

Pedal to the metal is nothing. I zigzagged from Ilopango to Finn’s school, where they had taken him back after the hospital visit in what felt like an eternity but was really half an hour. I spoke to the teachers and could not believe my luck that I had entrusted my child’s education to two women that are so competent, and assertive and compassionate and amazing. Later, as I sat in the Pediatrician’s waiting room talking to Adriana recounting the events of the day we somehow manage to laugh. How great to have a friend.

Like in those movies where you see seemingly stray lives come together in some way as the plot develops , International Women’s Day this year was a day when I was inspired, taught and saved by very different women: Girls who did really bad things but keep trying even if society has given up on them, a potential new friend, a woman with a very simple heart of gold, two angels who take care of other’s children as if they were their own, and the treasure that is a true girlfriend. Exhausted to the almost point of tears, tucked in bed in men’s pajamas I think: It’s a good day to be a woman and to have so many amazing ones around me. And one last ironic thought strikes me : With all the shit we have to get done and be, the people we need to comfort, the kids we need to raise, the careers we have to juggle-  these days you need a pair of  balls to be a woman."

A belated happy day to all the women who toil and laugh and live and are amazing.

A Post Mortem Thank You Note

I used to be one of those kids who could ID what they wanted and make a bee line for it. Tunnel vision- what I wanted I got- sometimes in non kosher ways. But that decisiveness and drive were in me. Somewhere between patterns handed down from parents and surrogate parents, life kicking my ass, and living unconsciously and for and through my ego, I lost them. I always joke that if you hate to see me agonizing  over choosing  between two jolly rancher flavors, you really don’t want to see what I’d be like buying house. My head is always spinning, always weighing everything in an endless torment of factors and facts, when I should really just be discerning enough to look inside and get my answer. And I say should be, because inside all of us there is that spiritual self- that along with  body, emotion and intellect- is the wisest part of us and it has all the answers, the answers that our past traumas don’t let us trust. I don't trust myself.

 For all of the previously stated, to me, people who can intuitively skip the bullshit and not only know what they want but take immediate steps toward execution, are a bit of a rare miracle. We mostly live in transference and ambivalence, sometimes not even our thoughts are our own. All these rule books, written and unwritten, the shoulds and should nots. How freeing it must be to inherently know to follow your heart. To say no timid yeses , to have our no’s not be tepid no’s. To have the greatness to take bold steps and then not look back or retreat. To say FUCK, YES and ABSOLUTELY NOT. And mean it, and stand by it.

I lost my father when I was twelve, and at that juncture of an impressionable age I happened to have the fortune to have befriended a girl who was an only child. She became one of my closest friends throughout what have now been three decades. I was that kid her parents invited over all the time, on weekend getaways and even family vacations. So close was my relationship with her parents that in our twenties their daughter and I got in a fight over a boy and I threatened to them to not go on the trip. I told on her, she told on me. Typical family dynamics between siblings.They mediated, we made up, and we all went to Cancun together. Years later I was a bridesmaid at her and that boy’s wedding. That man who treated me like a second daughter gave her away.

My memories of him include the one where he  gave me my first job out of high school which consisted of making a report of the closing of the Coffee Sugar and Cocoa Exchange and sending it out, via fax, (ha!) to the major coffee growers in El Salvador. He also was the first person to ever fire me. Maybe because instead of doing the report I ate sandwiches with his daughter in her room. What I remember working with him is that day in day out I was both intimidated and mesmerized by this man, this force, that took over , loud, assertive, busy, determined, authoritative, dynamic. I never saw him blink or fret. Regardless of what he was pursuing  he always went for it-he never half assed a thing. If he ever had doubts, self or otherwise, it was never apparent. 

Last week his life was taken from him, brutally, cowardly. There will most likely be chatter about the circumstances, speculation. Big small talk for those who have nothing better to do. It’s just too easy for people to weigh in  and judge. It’s easy to condemn. You see, pointing out that the neighbor needs to clean up his yard is easy, even when our own yard is in front of you in desperate need to be  worked on. Destroying things is easy. It’s easy to ruin a reputation or break a heart. You know what’s admirable? to repair. Because it takes the very best disposition in us to repair broken things, things that aren’t whole or even useful. It’s hard work, it takes thought, and time and focusing and empathy. The bad in us comes to the surface readily, almost automatically. The good has to be pulled from depths of our soul that we are not used to tapping into.

 I have the leisure to be sitting at home doing one of the things that I enjoy the most because my boss-, for reasons that I completely understand- would not allow me to be absent for the two days I needed to travel for the funeral. I  went into his office knowing that I’d probably come out of it with no job to come back to. I was right. I had to choose- take the two days, pay my respects, kiss my lifelong friend or get a paycheck. I, unlike Don Marcos, have spent the last shitty year in painful ambivalence- weighing in on  my life, my marriage, my opportunities and  my choices. I’ve been to more therapy than I ever thought a person  would need in a lifetime. But as I stood there there was no ambivalence, and the best way to pay my respects to that man who was kind to me and generous beyond what most people reading about him in a newspaper will ever know is to have calmly looked around and made my choice. No weighing and backtracking. Clear as day. A paycheck over sentiment? (and here I can hear his voice) ABSOLUTELY NOT.

May you rest in eternal peace - and thank you,thank you, thank you.

Seventeen

 When I was seventeen I had mostly dreams, a unencumbered future, a HUGE crush on my best friend, and perhaps a tiny bit of teenage angst. I had by then experienced my  fair share of sadness, having lost my father and grieved the death of my close friend Karina, but I always found enough reasons to be happy.  Like sunflowers, I followed the light - And it was luckily right there in my environment. It was in the face of my friends and the unity of our class as we entered our senior year in high school.

  It always strikes me as brutal how alone, sad and attacked kids in the United States feel in contrast to my own teenage experience. I wonder if it was the small size of my school and class,  the fact that we started together in Kindergarten and saw each other grow into the eighteen year olds we became as we left for college , or the  blessed lack of social media. We had slam books but the slamming was never horrible or aimed to cause irreparable harm. We were held  accountable for the smack we talked , as we did not have the luxury of anonymity or hiding behind iPhone screens. We were family, and like family, we did not always like each other but the bonds of every day motions  created an inevitable closeness that does not allow for  wanting to harm someone you've seen grow up alongside yourself.

Twenty two years later I find myself thinking of a seventeen year old boy who took his own life this past weekend. When I first heard about it I had the same reaction as everyone. Tragic. Such a young life. The words depression, breakup, and bullying were mentioned.  I also heard he belonged to my club and participated in water sports there. " One of the good , polite kids", someone said. So what drives a nice boy to jump in front of a train? 

His friends came by the shop today  to buy flowers and little succulents to put in a memorial at the train station. They weren't capitalizing on  their grief as an attention grabbing vehicle, like some adults I've encountered in similar situations. They seemed stricken but only in the way girls that age can be. Their faces a mix of sadness and youth and sweetness. As I wrapped each bouquet  trying to be sympathetic and professional at the same time, my heart broke a little. How does one cope with an event like this at such a young age? How does one say goodbye to a friend one had no idea was in so much pain? Why does a kid with his life ahead of him have to feel like the only way to make things better is by dying?

Driving back home this evening I was about to pass the train station when I felt the need to say a little prayer for him . The flowers his friends bought were there, along with little pots of  succulents, desert plants - soaking wet , like me, under the rain. And his picture. He reminded me a little of my friend Marcela's little cousin, who we still call Eduardito, despite the fact that he's in his thirties now.  He was smiling at someone , looking to the side. So young. I tried to say something and all that came out was  " I'm sorry, I'm sorry". I'm sorry you felt hopeless, I'm sorry your sadness was so great you needed to escape it in such an extreme and terminal way. I'm sorry we as humans in general, aren't better.

How many faces do we see every day?  Have we any idea of what is really going on behind each one of  them?  People we work with, the guy we see every morning in line for a Starbucks coffee, the guy who gets the door.  What about those closest to us?  Is it possible that two inches away from us they feel like they're drowning? How would we all look if our mental and emotional wounds were as visible as our physical ones? Would we be capable of being cruel knowing someone is in excruciating pain? Would seventeen year old kids still jump? I did not know him, or his family, but I know this- we all can and we  all should be better. We are starving for empathy and love as a society.  We all need it and  we still don't give it. There is so much at stake and the lack of connection and community thread and legitimate caring is taking its toll on all of us. Sure, we can't be responsible for everyone's feelings- we can't , in that sense, save the world. But as a very special woman I recently met said to my group in a retreat in California " You can't carpet the whole world, but you can put on shoes".  We can't change people's reality, but we can adjust the way we behave in the world. Put on your shoes. Be gentle, be kind.  Please. Teach your kids. Pass it on.

Little Women

1990's

I grew up in a society whose silent message to girls  was that it was important to be pretty and amiable. Looks and charm were the golden key to go from living off your parents to living off your husband, with a pit stop in college along the way. The women I grew up around- bejeweled, slim, sartorially savvy- they did not  have jobs or work. I make the distinction because house work, for stay at home , present, involved mothers- is very hard work. No, the women I looked up to had great hair, and drivers and the invisible hands of staff that kept their  pillows fluffed and their fridges full, their children's needs met. I thought that was the blueprint of a great life.  It is only now that I am their age and that I've made my own choices  that I see that their life was not one big holiday like I once thought. The vulnerability of signing your life away to some dude is an incredibly high price to pay for so called comfort.

2000's

My first failed attempt at marriage, after dropping out of law school to follow the blueprint. The neglected child still living in the young woman that I was scratches her head in confusion. I had waited all my life to be loved. So wasn't love supposed to carry the day? I lived in ambivalence, going  back to school being my logical choice but always in the backroads of my mind the thought that my Prince, my White Knight was still out there. And he was coming to save me- save me from myself , save me from having to make my own decisions, which I was never trained or encouraged to do. Save me from fighting my own battles. So I went  on to  kiss a lot of frogs. None of them turned into a Prince. I finally  graduated from law school and was by that time gainfully employed. I had great friends. My life was not what one might call too shabby. Regardless , all of that did not make me feel that good about myself because being smart and accomplished meant nothing to me if  there wasn't a man in my life to validate the qualities I possessed, but was blind to. I wasn't enough.

2010

I was no longer a bar star, and quite enjoyed working at a law firm as an Associate. I had started moving up on the ladder and even had my own paralegal. Unlike a former one who in hindsight hired me  for being -for a lack of a kinder word -"a piece of ass",  my boss  then treated me with equal respect as he did the guys and paid me equally too. I had started to discover the joys of independence. At the same time I started to discover the joys of a relationship free of drama, not coincidentally, with a man who treated his mother with the most respect I have ever seen from a son. We stayed together long enough for the subject of marriage to come up. We said our I do's, and I started from scratch in a new country, dependent all over again.

----

2017

It appears that I did nothing but chase romance down for the best part of my twenties, as opposed to some young women who had a clear path in mind. A career oriented path. These women became CEO's and CFO's and Marketing Wizards and Doctors. and Mathematicians. These women became bosses. These women somehow had night vision for what I failed to see- that all a woman really  needs to become who she wants to be is already within herself. Then society comes along and tells us otherwise. And we believe it. We believe the story we've been told over and over and through the years. It is a belief so strong to shake, a lesson so hard to unlearn that it has taken me a lot of observation and soul searching and therapy to finally value myself and to see everything I have to offer without belittling it, without shying away from it like some unsolicited compliment. At thirty eight years old I can finally say I know my worth. And I don't need a man to prove it to me. I have a family (both by  blood and friendship) that I'm an integral part of and has taught me lessons in loyalty and kindness,  a raised scar that proves I'm a mother and that I have made sacrifices for it,  a degree that proves I'm smart , whether I work or not- a badge that says I'm a firefighter, someone who gives a shit. I have an oil painting of my child  done by me that proves I have some talent. And still, at the end of the day I am  only one of so many women,  the ones we know, the ones we cross paths for two seconds at an airport, or barely register at drop off at our kid's school, all with our own stories to tell, tapping away at my computer in my little bed in a little suburban town. Yes, you could say I'm just a number, but I beg to differ- I am, we all are, so much more.

Dear Finn

The background..
This is a letter I wrote my son on his birthday...We are moving this week and while boxing everything up I came across this notebook. Mother's day seemed like a great day to share.

My dearest Bubba, Lovey, Finnegan, "Finn" Xavier,


We should give each other a kiss today. It is our birthday. On February fourth, one year ago, not one but two people were born in that OR. Thirty nine weeks of waiting, forty hours between my first contraction and your first cry, and an instant later you came into the world and so did I. You could argue I gave you life, but I can assure you it was the other way around.

The woman who held you and fed you is not the same one that conceived you. I was chickenshit and you made me brave. Choosing to be a mother is a most farfetched gamble- you trade in a care free life for an eternal achilles heel. I now have a weak spot, I accepted fear as part of life and learned to live without the arrogance of one who has nothing to lose. As I am stirred to tears watching you sleep, I am painfully aware that losing you would shatter my life irrevocably. I will spend my life fending for you, worrying about you, and trying to spare you pain. I won't go to bed until I know you've come home, I will worry about the company you keep but I will have to tip toe around it to keep the communication channel open.

It's not all worries and angst at all, I also learn from you, even now. I have learned that a roof, a full belly, and unconditional love and security are all a human being needs to be happy and thrive. I have seen the way you discover the world, with such awe and newness and it makes me want see the world through your eyes. You're not complacent with what you know, you always want to explore, see more, you are interested and interesting. You have also unlocked a solidarity unknown to me before you. It has especially hit home with children's causes because I realize that to those parents their sick children are -like you are to me-identical miracles.


So thank you for your lessons, thank you for the gummy smiles, for this year of moments I will forever hold in my memory because they can never be replicated. Thank you for all the happiness I never knew was possible- and thank you for choosing me.

I love you,

Your Mama

A Middle Finger Emoji to Chat

I have often thought Finn would be the one to struggle with social skills and technology. My thought was that since I grew up writing notes, doing calligraphy exercises, and going over to people's houses to visit and converse it would be my poor son, born in the age of the iPad, Kindle Fire, Chat, Facebook, Twitter and Instagram that would have to learn what to me came naturally- the legit and original Face Time- i.e. getting together,hanging out and shooting the shit. Turns out my generation has a lot to learn too.

It started out innocently enough-I was just trying to take advantage of technology. Moving away meant I would no longer be able to have lunch with my friends in El Salvador every day to catch up and take a break from work, or do my Sunday brunch with my three old friends from way back.And I still wanted to feel connected- It was a lifeline of sorts. The irony of it is that in my case these leaps in techie socialization-especially group chats- have turned out to be a double edged sword. Chat is a handy tool but it can never replace the foundations of a friendship. Chat allows you to take a lot of the aspects of a relationship for granted. We chatted, so we're ok. We sent out group jokes- yeah, we're all still friends.

When I'm here in the U.S. my friends and I "chat". What I've realized is that long distance friendships (in pretty much the same way as romantic relationships) cannot survive being built on the path of least resistance. An effort needs to be made. Because chat is just that. It is small talk, it is a wave with an emoji stuck next to it, not much of a commitment, a nod. It is not a connection. Unlike a real conversation a chat stops when your kid comes calling and is left there unreturned to until a new chat starts up in a day or two (if that). Guilty as charged. The problem is that the rules for these conversations are so lax it is actually perceived as ok to stop mid sentence and go water your plants. That would be the equivalent of being in a meeting and leaving the table without a word. We accept it because no one's there to call us out. Well I am calling it out.

I know for a fact that there is more going on with me and my friends, than we let on via chat. Who are we telling the remaining bits to? who are we giving the eye contact, the hugs, the legit Hellos? Why do we take this fake sense of closeness provided by a Group Administrator and take for granted that we as humans, as friends, as beings who thrive on connection and physical contact are satisfied with it? Because I am not. I am not ready to let go of the art of making and nurturing a friendship organically. I am not ready to live describing my feelings and my thoughts with emojis and acronyms. When you're with friend and you laugh so hard tears come to your eyes-that can't be minimized to a ROTFL. Those are the moments that make up life itself. You want time to stand still.That doesn't happen with chat. Chat is for "Where are you?" a walk with someone is for "Where are you in life?"

I like things with substance and that don't feel hollow. I like it for example when I run down to Carol's house without calling first. I will find her in her porch on bench reading a book- her kid will be in the vicinity and will pop her head out when she sees me and Finn. Carol and I shoot the shit on the bench while our kids play on the floor. We eat grapes and veggie straws. We don't wear shoes or airs- we are two friends who bask in each other's company. It just occurred to me that Carol and I have never what'sapped.

I read somewhere that technology is forcing us to say goodbye to hello. Nobody calls each other anymore. I for one intend to move with the times, but not at such a high price. I am hoping I have chosen my friends wisely and they'll get it too. I can't think they wouldn't. Who wants to hide behind and iphone when there's such joy in companionship? Who would give up the sun for a screen's eery glow?